


Grave Flame

by Angels-Condom (Improvqueen)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Improvqueen/pseuds/Angels-Condom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has two months left in his deal before the hellhounds come to drag him away. He and Sam are avoiding the topic, but when it comes up one night, Sam promises to do anything Dean wants if Dean will let him try to save him. Dean considers this, and finally decides what he wants for his last wish. But will Sam be willing to give it? Wincest slash eventually, brotherly love, angst, cute brotherly moments, hurt/comfort, mostly canon (but set in between episodes).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promise Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic set in season three, and this chapter takes place with about two months before Dean's deal is up. More chapters will come soon- I intend to have the whole fic up within a week of posting this chapter. No warnings out of the ordinary for this chapter. I will include warnings in an AN at the beginning of each. Enough rambling from me now, enjoy the fic and please let me know what you think! Comments are highly appreciated! ( I own nothing, just having way too much fun playing with characters. I earn nothing from these fics other than my readers appreciation and tears, occasionally. :p)

The black windows of the abandoned factory seemed to stare at Sam and Dean as they crossed the parking lot outside, as if the spirit of the witch they had just killed was still inside, staring, promising vengeance. She had been a nasty one - casting hexes on doors and passageways to confuse people and cause them to kill the person they loved most. Bitch to catch too… She had led them on a chase halfway across the country and almost caused Dean to kill Sam before they had caught up to her.

Dean popped the trunk of the car and placed the blade he had used back inside after wiping it clean. Sam followed him, sliding into the impala and slamming the door. Dean slid in next to him with a smirk on his face.

“It’s not funny, Dean.” Sam turned to his brother, who had started laughing. “Dean! Seriously?” 

“Sam, this is the third supernatural thing this month that has died and taken one of your shoes with it. You have to admit, it’s like hell has banded together to steal your shoes.” Dean wasn’t even trying to hold in his laughter now. “I can see it now, the posters strung up… Advertising a promotion straight to torturer as soon as you get there if you can provide the shoe of Sam Winchester!”

“Not. Funny.” Dean only laughed harder at Sam’s level 9 bitchface. Sam sighed, finally giving in to the laughter - it really was infectious. Now that he thought about it though, it was quite humorous. The first demon had come while they were asleep, trying to surprise them. It had grabbed one of Sam’s shoes to tease him with, but Dean had killed it and the shoe had disappeared with it. The second one had decided to take Sam captive while he was getting takeout. It had been in the process of putting on one of Sam's shoes to try to fool Dean when Dean had showed up behind it to send it back to hell. It had disappeared with Sam's jeans and the shoe. Finally, the witch had tried to drag Sam around a corner by the shoe, and Dean had stabbed her just in the nick of time. The shoe had disappeared as she died. 

“Where to next, Sam? I saw a job over in Florida… We could use a vacation. Right now especially.” Dean glanced at him as he pulled out of the lot, merging onto the interstate to get to the next town. They would stay the night wherever they ended up.

“Right now? What’s that supposed to mean? Vacations aren’t exactly in the job description.” Sam stared straight ahead. He refused to look at Dean. 

“Sammy… You know what I'm talking about. We only have so much time left before…” Dean let his voice trail off.

“Before we find the next job and are working again. Right. Vacation it is.” Sam turned his head away to stare out the window. The line at the side of the road flew by. He concentrated on it. 

“We can't avoid the topic forever, Sam.” Dean sighed. “I hate the mushy stuff more than you do, and even I know we need to talk about this. Those fucking hellhounds are soon gonna be on our asses, and we need to plan where we want to be when they catch us - when they catch me. Where you're gonna bury me, the hunters’ funeral, all that shit.”

“I’m not gonna let you die! Why the hell did you have to go make a deal with a demon for anyway- you knew what would happen!” Sam had whirled to face Dean now, and Dean’s fingers were clamped tightly around the steering wheel. “Don’t you know I can't live while you die, while you are down there? We’re brothers, Dean. Didn’t you know what this would do to me when you had to… go?”

“How the hell do you think I felt when you _did_ die, huh? You think I don’t understand?” Dean watched the road and made a reckless lane change before taking a heavy breath. “You think I didn’t go through the exact same thing when I held you as you died with a fucking knife in your back?” 

Dean was shouting now, but Sam didn’t care. It wasn’t fair of Dean to do this… he should have left him dead. It was all he deserved. Everyone he got close to died; it would be better for the world if he were still wherever he had gone that time when he had died. Heaven or hell, at least no one would get hurt because of him. 

“So you thought it would be nice to make a deal, make me feel guilty because now you're dying for _me_ , and then put me through what you were going through? Really feeling the love here, Dean!” Sam was trying to hold back the tears that threatened in his eyes. “I swear, I’m not gonna let you die.”

“If I don’t die, you'll turn up dead again! Sam, let me do this. I'm not gonna go down easy, but you gotta promise you won't try to stop them. Please, Sammy. For me.” Dean still didn’t look at him, but Sam could have sworn he saw the sparkle of a tear glittering down Dean’s face. 

“No, Dean. I swear; I'll do anything. Anything for you. But not that.” Sam looked at him beseechingly. “Anything but that… I don’t think I could just stand by while the hellhounds drag you away. You’ve saved my life too many times for that.” 

“You mean that? Anything?”

“Anything but that. I swear, Dean, I do. Just name it.”

“I… Sam, I don’t want both of us to end up in hell. Let me take this fall. I dragged you back to this life - I owe it to you to give you another chance at it.” 

“Let me try. Let me try to keep you safe, and I'll do anything.” The tears were flowing freely down Sam's face now, though Dean kept his in check. “Name the price. It couldn’t be worse than losing you like that, knowing I never tried.” 

“We’ll run. We’ll try to avoid them as long as possible, and you can do whatever research shit you do. In return… I'll have to think about this one, Sammy. I don’t have a lot of experience with death wishes.” 

“Fuck Dean, don’t call it that. Call it a… repayment for a favour or some crap like that.” He turned his head to the window, his tears beginning to slow as he planned what books he would need. “Let me know when you know what you want. Anything. I swear.”

“Yeah yeah, get out one of those maps you are so fond of and find us a cheap motel, would you? A brother’s gotta sleep sometime.” Dean started flipping through the tapes under the radio, looking for something upbeat that would keep him from losing it. Finding a tape, he shoved it in the player, swiping his cheek with the back of his hand to catch a tear as it slid down. The strains of ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ by Kansas began to play through the speakers. 

_Carry on my wayward son,_   
_There’ll be peace when you are done._   
_Lay your weary head to rest,_   
_Don’t you cry no more._

Dean cranked the volume up, so loud he almost missed Sam speaking. 

“Thank you, Dean.”


	2. Slippery Slopes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings out of the ordinary for this one. Well, unless you are squeamish about slime… I’ll let you decide. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think! Love you all for reading this! Next one will likely be up late tonight to early tomorrow.

*** ONE MONTH LATER ***

“Sam, I don’t get why you always pick the monsters with the hardest cleanup jobs. Couldn’t we let another hunter take on one of the tentacle monsters once in a while?” 

They were standing in a motel room in the middle of Kansas, cleaning the green-grey slime off the walls and floor of the room. This one hadn’t limited itself to the washroom like they usually did; it had hidden under the bed and would come out at night to drown the room’s occupants with the slime before dissolving their skin from the bones. It took about 20 minutes for the skin to even start dissolving though, so the thing had only hunted at night. Gave a whole new meaning to the ‘monster under the bed’ theory kids were so fond of. And another reason to avoid seedy motels. Unfortunately, the thing had decided it didn’t want to be killed, and it had tried to retreat into the bathtub drain. Nasty game of tug-o-war, commencing in some broken pipes, a ruined shower curtain, and Sam hanging by the back of his jeans on the shower rod. Dean flexed his fingers, red from where the slime had started to try to eat through his skin. He made a note to check their dad’s journal for a good hand lotion for hunters. 

“What, call in a favour for something as small as this? What, you afraid to get a bit of slime under your nails?” Sam scooped up a particularly nasty glob of slime from the dresser and lobbed it across the room at Dean. Dean hit the floor, watching the disgusting blob hit the door behind him and slowly sink to the floor. 

“That’s the way it is, huh? You want to start that, Sammy?” Dean grabbed a handful of slime peppered with bits of tentacle and whipped it across the room. Sam ducked, but only ended up managing to get it in his hair rather than his face. Sam raised his eyes to Dean’s, attempting to look angry but not quite managing.

“Jerk.” He prowled towards Dean slowly, and Dean backed away, feigning fright. Sam got close and looked like he was about to throw Dean over his shoulder when he shook his head, his hair flying every which way and making droplets of slime and tentacle spray all over Dean. 

“Bitch.” Dean fell back onto the bed on his back and watched as Sam grabbed another slimy handful and started towards the collar of his shirt, intent on stuffing it down the inside. Dean did a backwards summersault across the bed and landed on his feet on the other side. He dropped beside the bed again as a glob of slime just brushed his shoulder. He wiped the tiny bit off on the sheet before grabbing some slime from the bedside table and crawling under the bed. God, there was so much slime he could swim in it under here. 

He crawled to the other side of the bed, and was about to slide the slush into Sammy's shoe when he realized it was missing- again. Before he could act on the whim to slime Sammy’s pant leg, he felt himself being yanked out by a strong arm and tossed back onto the bed, where Sammy pinned his arms and legs as he laughed. Dean was laughing so hard he almost didn’t notice when Sammy shoved a handful of slime in his mouth. 

Dean turned his head to the side and coughed it out, attempting a bitchface at Sam. It must not have worked, from the expression of amusement on Sam's face. Or perhaps that was from the slime still dripping off his chin. Dammit, Sam had won this round. But Dean was gonna start a new one.

“I see hell is still adding to its Winchester Shoe Collection. It only seems to be interested in yours though… Strange. Perhaps the devil is a fan of yours? I would have thought he would prefer me, being more handsome and all…” 

Sam stuffed slime down his pants.

“Dude. No.” Dean tried to get away from him to clean himself off, but Sammy was just too big. Why the hell did Dean have to get the little brother who was almost twice his size? “Sammy, come on. Don’t make me steal your other shoe… When I go to hell, they might give me a break!” 

Sammy’s face lost the amusement it had held a moment before, and he slid off of Dean with an efficiency that surprised even Sam himself. 

“Don’t talk like that, Dean. I'm gonna keep you safe.” Sam sighed, sitting on the bed heavily and sliding a hand through the front of his hair. It stuck up at all angles and made it look like he had slicked it up like a preteen - he must have forgotten about the slime. He glanced at Dean. “I promise.”

“We can't keep ignoring this again, Sam.” Dean was heading for the washroom- the slime in his pants was starting to burn. “It isn’t right. We need to talk this out.” 

“We can talk later. You still have a month and a bit left, right? We can work it out. We've worked more out in less time before.” 

“I can afford to take chances on this one Sam. I can't lose you. I can't let that be my fault.”

“I can't let _your_ death be _my_ fault, and I intend to try everything possible to stop this whole messed-up highway of terror.” Sam had followed him and was standing in the doorway as Dean washed up. 

“Sam, I think I know what I-”

“Know what? Let’s just finish this cleanup and get out of here. I can't talk about this right now, Dean. I can't.” he grabbed some slime from near the door and tossed it into the bathtub, turning on the shower to wash it down the drain. “You take care of the bathroom, and I'll finish under the beds.”

“Sammy…”

“Please.”

“Yeah, I got this. Go.”

Dean turned back to the sink as Sam walked out. The bathroom didn’t take long to finish, and Sam was fairly quick in the bedroom. Dean sat in the impala, waiting for Sam to return the key and tell the motel owners that their plumbing problem was all fixed up. Good as new. Too bad it seemed the job had damaged Dean more that the pipes- he might know what he wanted, but would Sam be willing to give it? 

Spying Sam walking back towards the impala, Dean quickly flipped through the tape collection. Grabbing one at random and shoving it into the player, the first phrases of ‘Highway to Hell’ greeted Sam's ears as he slid into the passenger seat. The road faced them again, and they drove down it in silence but for the music. 

_Don’t need reason, don’t need rhyme_   
_Ain’t nothing I would rather do._   
_Going down, party time,_   
_My friends are gonna be there too…_   
_I'm on the highway to hell…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review, lovely people! Makes it so much more enjoyable to write!


	3. A Scent of Humor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people. Nothing out of the ordinary warning-wise for this chapter. So glad you guys are enjoying it enough to still be reading. Loving the reviews, so encouraging to hear anything you lovelies have to say! Stay awesome!

*** ONE MONTH LATER ***

The impala flew down the road, going at least twenty over the limit, but Dean was in a good mood and Sam didn’t want to ruin it by pointing this fact out.

“Y’know, Sammy, I think that the devil must have a crush on you.” Dean was tapping his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the cassette that was on, the notes and phrases of ‘Run Like Hell’ playing in the background. ‘You better run all day, and run all night, and keep your dirty feelings deep inside.’ rung out, causing a small frown to flick across Dean’s face before it cleared again and took on the teasing tone Sam was quickly tiring of. “He might send the hellhounds after me with instructions to propose marriage to you. Use me as a wedding gift…” 

“Would you stop joking about them? It’s getting annoying Dean.”

“Well, it’s no wonder they’ll come after me when they catch my scent - if I smelled something as good as _this_ ,” he gestured to himself “I’d come running to drag it away too.”

“Dean!” Sam whipped the map he had been holding onto the floor and threw his hands up in front of him in exasperation. “This isn’t funny! We have two weeks before they come to drag you away, and we are no closer to finding a solution than before!” 

“Perhaps if we lace your shoes with Devil’s Shoestring the hellhounds won't get to steal one of them this time. Oh wait, you only have one left.” Dean glanced down at Sam’s feet where only one was covered by a shoe. The other was covered by a white sock with a hole where the big toe was, and it seemed to be annoying Sam beyond belief. Dean wondered how the shoe had tasted when the crocotta had eaten it. “Hm, maybe a trip to a shoe store is in order… again.”

“There aren’t any within ten miles. I checked the damn map.”

Dean smiled as he turned into a worn, rutted dirt lane. 

“And you paid so much attention to your map that you didn’t notice where we were headed, right?”

Sam widened his eyes. 

“I am not asking Bobby for shoes.”

“Why not? I’m sure he would understand the difficulties of hunting when monsters seem to have a shoe fetish exclusive to your shoes. Well, maybe not the creatures being obsessed with your shoes part, but probably the difficulty of hunting in one shoe.”

“I’m sure my shoes going missing is purely coincidental. It makes no sense to think that the creatures all want my shoes. Why would they want them anyway? The probably stink of sweat from chasing the damn things. Besides, Bobby won't have shoes in my size.” Sammy shook his head. “Why would hell be after my shoes, anyway?” 

Dean pulled the impala up beside a complete write off of a car, something only Bobby would try to save. He turned off the engine and slid the keys into his pocket, then grinned at Sam.

“No clue. Maybe your sweat from the soles of your feet has magical properties. Let me check.”

Dean leaned down and grabbed for Sam's feet, but Sam swung open the car door and moved his legs out of reach. Dean only grinned though, and pushed Sam so that he stumbled out of the Impala and barely kept his footing.

“Bobby’ll have books on hellhounds. Go research.” Dean pulled the door shut and clicked the latch shut before sliding out himself. “I’ll explain the shoe situation. Let’s go little bro.”

Dean sauntered towards the farmhouse, laughing, before stopping suddenly. Sam turned to him with a bitchface bordering on level 10, but changed his expression to one of concern when he saw the look of terror on his brother’s face. 

Dean backed up a few steps, looking utterly terrified. Sam couldn’t see what was bringing on the terror, but he knew enough about supernatural things that he knew sometimes not everyone could see a demon. Or whatever it was. He walked forward quickly. His hand had already found a knife from his pocket, hoping whatever was there wouldn’t be immune to silver. 

“Dean. Dean, listen. What do you see? What are we gonna fight?”

“It… Sam, it… SAM!” Dean lurched backwards at the last word, nearly managing to impale himself on the knife as he tripped and landed flat on his back. His head hit the ground with a sickening thud, but Sam didn’t pay attention to that. He was circling the motionless form of Dean, trying to figure out what he had seen and where the hell it was now. He needed to protect him - that was the only thought in his mind. If there was anything left of Dean to protect. At that moment, Bobby threw open the door of the house and took in the scene. 

“Sam, what's goin’ on? What’s out here?” Bobby looked confused, but he had pulled a buckshot gun from a rack apparently right inside the door. Sam hoped it was full of rock salt. 

“No clue, Bobby. Dean saw it - there was nothing I could see. Then, he freaked out and knocked himself out. Don’t know… if he’s okay.”

“Check him. I'll cover you.” Bobby stayed against the house, and raised the barrel to his eye. He kept it trained on the ground near where Dean lay; ready to shoot at the first sign of attack. 

Sam dropped the knife to the ground and knelt beside Dean, placing two fingers on his wrist and leaning down to listen for breath. Hearing none for a moment, Sam pressed his mouth against Dean’s, preparing to start CPR. Instead though, he felt a hand pushing him weakly but firmly away. He raised himself up to look at Dean, who had his eyes half-open and a smirk on his face. 

“If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.” Dean managed to get out. He was gasping for breath now - he must have just been knocked unconscious along with having the wind knocked out of him. Sam pushed himself up, rolling his eyes. Of course Dean would wake up with a smartass comment.

“He’s fine, Bobby. I think we should knock him out again though, he's easier to talk to then.”

“You two havin’ a lovers quarrel again?” Bobby grunted with an eye roll. “Get him up and onto the couch. I’ll get something t’drink.” 

Bobby paused halfway into the door, seeing the look on Sam's face directed at Dean, who was lying on the ground with a small smirk on his face. 

“I know he’s difficult, Sam, but try t’ keep him conscious this time. Whatever was runnin’ around’s gone now.” Bobby stepped forward, but paused again. “I’ll make yours is strong. You look like you need it.” His eyes flicked down to Sam’s feet. “An’ a new shoe, I’d reckon.”

Sam glared at him as he walked inside, chuckling, before turning back to Dean with a grim smile on his face. 

“Well, dear brother, let’s get you inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one was a bit short, but oh well. I'm almost done the next chapter as well, so it won't be long before it’s up! As always, I love hearing everything you have to say!


	4. A Hell of a Grudge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, no real warnings for this chapter but a bit of angst, and a very drunk conversation. Enjoy!

*** HALF AN HOUR LATER ***

Five stumbles, thirteen bitchfaces, seventeen smartass comments, three punches, one well-aimed kick, and approximately 25 unique cuss words (8 of which Sam was nearly sure Dean had just made up) later, Sam and Dean were settled on the couch in the living room. Sam had two ice packs; one for his crotch (Dean was good at aiming kicks, though Sam _may_ have dropped him first), and one for his cheek (Dean got angry when Sam tried to kiss his booboo better- he was only joking… but still). Dean had three- one for the back of his head where he had knocked himself out when he had fallen, one for his knuckles where they had connected with Sam’s cheekbone, and one for his stomach where Sam had punched him after Dean had called him a moose. Each held a bottle of beer as they tried to balance the icepacks, and was enduring a glare from Bobby.

Dean had already recounted what he had seen five times, but none of them could make sense of it. The big dog, consisting of only smoke and terror, had been right in front of him. It had been half his size, if not bigger, and if it had been standing on its hind legs it would’ve been even taller than the moose over there. Dean… he had never seen something that terrifying, and the eyes… they had been black, like a demons, but not the flat black of a possessed human. They had been pulsing, trapped souls pounding to escape an inevitable fate of torture in hell for eternity. 

Bobby sat silently across from them. He looked between them with a look that clearly said _what the hell is up between you two?_

“Never really got to say hello, Bobby.” Dean smiled slightly, trying to ease the tension. “Figured we would swing by, since we were in the area.”

“You two always have favored dramatic entrances, haven’t you?” Bobby took a sip of his own beer before looking between them and blinking slowly. “What really brought you boys?”

“Bobby, you know Dean made a deal. We're trying to find a loophole, a way for him to get out of it.” Sam winced at the sting of talking with a bruised cheek- and shot a pure, level 11, for heaven’s sake, bitchface at Dean. 

“Sorry ‘bout that man.” Dean had the decency to look a bit ashamed of himself. Just a bit though. He shifted in his seat, repositioning the ice pack on the back of his head. “And you mean you’re looking for a way out. I've told you I don’t want to risk your life for mine. Dad told me to take care of you, and I intend to, Sam.” 

“Yeah, well I intend to find a way out. You're not gonna do me any good dead.” Sam turned away and took a mouthful of alcohol. “That is, if we don’t end up killing each other first.”

“Let’s get y’two separated for a bit. You two’re bickerin’ like an old married couple again.” Bobby scrunched his eyebrows together and gestured for Sam to follow him to the study. “C’mon, Sam, I got some books on hellhounds over here you might be interested in.”

They wandered over to the bookshelf and left Dean to ponder his thoughts. His stomach was feeling better, as was his fist- though he was gonna have a bitch of a headache in a few minutes. Better drink more beer so he could pretend it was a hangover in the morning- he had already decided they were staying the night. He was in no condition to drive, and with Sam on his second beer of the hour, he wouldn’t be soon either. Sam was deep in conversation with Bobby; his ice packs lay forgotten on the table. Dean was glad to see _he_ was feeling better. He took another swig of beer. This was gonna be a long night.

Sam ended up surrounded by books as he read about the hellhounds. There wasn’t much information about appearance there- most people who saw them didn’t live long enough afterwards to provide a decent description, after all. But there was information about what happened in regards to deals, how the hounds would find you, all useful but not exactly new. One fact was new though- the person who had made the deal would occasionally begin hallucinating the hound was after them before it came. Among other things. He shuddered at the things Dean might… see. Sam had a sneaking suspicion that was what had happened to Dean. Sam thought that the ‘sight’ of a hellhound would be enough to terrify anyone- though how Dean would know what one looked like he had no idea. Perhaps the hallucinations were based on the person’s perception of what the hound would look like… that would make sense. 

He became so absorbed in his books he didn’t notice the words blurring before his eyes until he was finished his fourth beer. Dean looked like he was in a similar state, relaxing on the sofa. The ice packs were all on the table now, forgotten in the small crowd of bottles on the table. Dean got up and stumbled slightly, catching himself before stumbling over and flopping into the chair next to Sam. The chair wobbled to the side slightly from Dean’s off-balance landing, but thankfully it stayed upright. It would serve the jerk right if it did dump him on the floor though… 

“Sam… You gotta help me man.”

“With what?” Dean was staring at him, his eyes half closed. He seemed to be trying to think through the alcohol-induced haze. “Dean?”

“That hound was… was what is coming for me. Maybe we can stop it. Maybe we can't. But… you gotta promise me.”

“Dean, you're drunk. You're not making any sense.” Sam looked up from book in front of him, focusing instead on making sense of Dean's drunk rambling. 

“You gotta promise me Sammy. I got hell covered. They can himme with their best shot. But you got a life ahead of you. Go find a girl. Get back to that college shit you wanted so much.”

“You're asking me to… move on after you… die?” Sam wasn’t sure he was following whatever messed up logic Dean was using. 

“Not move on, kid. I’m telling you to forget about me. Don’t keep my memory and all that shit around. It’ll only hold you back, Sammy.” His speech was slurred- Sam had to listen closely to what he was saying in order to hear any of it. 

“Dean, I'm not gonna just forget you existed. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“Yes, you are.” Dean banged his fist down on the table. “I'll take whatever shit they do to me down there if I know you're happy up here. I'm giving you my life Sammy- giving up my life to give you a second chance at yours. Don’t fuck it up trying to remember me.” Damn, Dean must have been wasted. Sammy glanced back at the pile of bottles on the table. There had to be at least 25.

“I'm gonna come after you, get you out of there Dean. Even if we can't find a way out of the deal, there’s nothing saying you have to stay dead in order for me to be alive.”

“No. Don’t take on hell on your own, lil’ moose. That’s suicide, and we’d both be stuck down there.” 

“Dean… I don’t know if I want to be up here while you're down there. We're brothers. We stick together. I think it’d be better to be together down there than alone up here.” Sam had closed the book he had been reading- the words didn’t make any sense to him anymore, and somehow he felt that Dean’s drunken state was allowing him to open up. Sam wasn’t about to lose the chance to talk like this. 

“Once I’m down there, I... I’m not gonna be me anymore. Hell… Dad said to me once that hell changes a person, no matter how good they were.”

“But together-”

“Don’t you get it Sam? There wouldn’t be a together. They would either keep us apart for all eternity, or force us to… hurt each other.” Dean had started out shouting, trying to get his nonsensical point across- of course Sam would come after him, he couldn’t see it any other way. But Dean's voice fell quiet, as though he had to say it, but didn’t really want Sammy to hear it. “After a while down there, I'm pretty damn sure you would do anything to find a moment without whatever they do to you… even if it means torturing your own brother.”

“Dean, I trust you. I know you wouldn’t-”

“Sammy… I don’t think I can take that chance. I won't be me. You wouldn’t be you. And the worst is, even if you tortured me, I would tell you to keep going, hurt me more… because you wouldn’t be getting’ hurt while you were torturing me.”

“I would never-”

“I would, Sammy! This’s hell we’re talking about! They have experience turning people against each other… in the end, nothing would be different about us, except that hell has one _hell_ of a grudge against us!”

“I don’t think it would be worth it up here without you. Saving people, hunting things… I don’t think I could carry on the family business without you.”

“I’m giving you an out, Sammy. An escape.” Dean swayed slightly in his seat, grabbing the edge of the table to stay upright. He gave the floor a dirty look, before refocusing on his words. “I don’t want you to hunt when I'm gone- not if you don’t want to. Leave the hunting life- go back to law school, start a family, all that shit I kept you from. Just… forget me, Sam. It will be better that way. Better for both of us.”

“Dean, you’re _drunk_. You need to sleep. Come on.” Sam stood; not quite realizing how much he had drank until the room started tilting around. “Shit… C’mon Dean. Let’s go.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and draped it over his own shoulders, lifting him up to his feet and helping him towards the bedroom Bobby had cleared the bed off in. Dean tripped and fell to the floor though- it had been ages since Sam had seen Dean too wasted to even stand up. Sighing, Sam braced himself against the wall and lifted Dean up in his arms, bridal style, and managed to get the two of them into the bedroom. It wasn’t the first time they had shared a bed, so Sam didn’t really think anything of it. He dropped Dean onto the bed as gently as he could, before climbing on top of the blanket as well. Neither of them took long to get to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to post more soon. As usual, comments make my day, and generally encourage me to write faster and ignore the real world more!


	5. Light My Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam wake up the next morning in a strange situation. Awkwardness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few warnings for this one. Warning for awkward sexual situations, masturbation, and vomiting. Pretty light, but they're there. I'm a bit self-conscious about this one, so let me know what you think. Sorry for taking so long to update! Took me a while to be happy with this one.

*** THE NEXT MORNING ***

Dean’s head hurt like a _bitch_. That was the first thing he thought of when he drifted back to consciousness, somehow in a bed. He honestly couldn’t remember getting here… Last he remembered, he had been lying on the couch, an ice pack under his head- and his 17th beer in his hand. Bobby knew him well… He had known Dean needed to actually get wasted for a change, to get away from the world for a while. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened last night… He hoped he hadn’t tried to kiss anyone. Not that he was against kissing guys- he had kissed enough of them before- but the fact that he was pretty sure both Sam and Bobby were straight pretty much spoiled the chances that a drunken kiss would go over well. 

Dean shifted slightly, opening his eyes to the glare of harsh sunlight coming through the window. He rubbed his head into his pillow lightly, stretching his neck. He tried to lift his left hand before realizing he couldn’t- it was pinned down by something. Dean turned his head slightly before realizing his head wasn’t exactly on a pillow. It was resting on Sam's chest, rising and falling slowly in rhythm to his breath. Sam was still sound asleep, snoring gently and looking somehow younger without worry over Dean creasing his forehead. Dean was lying beside him, his head curled to rest on Sam's chest and his arm pinned underneath Sam's back. Sam had one arm under Dean’s back, cupping his shoulder lightly. Dean’s other arm was over Sam's stomach, his fingers resting on Sam's abs, relaxed with sleep. Sam's left arm, the one farthest from Dean, was stretched above his head and bent at the elbow, creating a frame for his face. 

Their legs were tangled together along with the blanket under them, all the way from their ankles to… well, a lot closer than their ankles. Dean shifted slightly to get blood flowing back to the arm trapped under Sam. He didn’t mind being is this position, not really- though he`d never admit it to Sam… he was comfortable around his not-so-little brother, able to let loose and be himself. More like giant, sprawling moose, really, but still his little brother. Looking at him like this- so relaxed and open in sleep, so innocent- only solidified Dean’s resolve to make sure that Sam didn’t hurt himself trying to save him. More than ever, Dean knew what he would have to do. He was not about to let both of them get dragged to hell.

Up until now, Dean hadn’t even let himself think about Sammy when he could help it- the wet dreams here and there couldn’t be helped. But Sam was his little brother- whom he was pretty sure was heterosexual, and way too morally uptight to do something like that with his own _brother_. But with the hellfire looming at the end of the tunnel… no matter how much Dean insisted he wasn’t into sentimental shit, he just couldn’t deny the fact that he didn’t want to die without knowing if there could have been something there. But not here- not with Bobby in the next room, the thin walls… Hell, Dean didn’t know what Bobby would do if he found out Dean was into Sam _that_ way. Somehow, the topic had just never come up. 

Dean began to roll out of bed, pulling his pinned arm out slowly in an attempt not to wake Sam, but failing miserably. First, the stutter in Sam's even breath. Then, Sam shifting slightly, closing his arms tighter around Dean. Finally, Sam opening his eyes with a slight squint and realizing the position they had ended up in. Sam's eyes went wide as he glanced down at their legs and back up again, finally meeting Dean's eyes, before looking away quickly and rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand, a classic Sam gesture of discomfort.

“Shit, sorry man, I… I really don’t know what- well…” Sam stuttered out, rubbing his hand that wasn’t trapped under Dean through his hair. “Dean, I'm- Dude, could you get off my arm?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Dean shifted his shoulders away from the bed so that Sam could slide his arm away, flexing his fingers and wincing. It must have fallen asleep. “So, wild night? How many did I have, anyway?”

“Don’t know, man. ‘M not your babysitter.” Sam rubbed his eyes as Dean removed the arm resting on Sam's stomach. Sam seemed to realize then that Dean still had an arm trapped under him. “Dammit, dude why didn’t you make me move?”

Sam arched his back, causing the muscles under his skin to move with a comfortable ease that caused something to stir in Dean's own stomach. Dean realized, a moment too late, that he was supposed to pull his arm out from under his brother. He quickly did, and Sam dropped himself back onto the bed before pulling himself up to a sitting position. He slowly untangled his legs from Dean's, moving with something that looked like discomfort. 

“’M gonna go to the washroom.” Sam was out of the room before Dean could decide what had caused his change of mood, from waking up and happy to uncomfortable and rushed. Well, other than the obvious, but it wasn’t the most awkward position they had found themselves in.

“Mornin’ to you too.” Dean grumbled, getting up and wincing at the pulsing blood rushing to his head. He made it to his feet before the wave of nausea washed over him, forcing him to sprint to the washroom. A hangover? This hadn’t happened in… months. Maybe a year. God, how much had he drunk last night? 

There was only one washroom near their room, and Dean knew he wouldn’t make it to the other one. He steeled himself to rush to either the toilet or the bathtub, whichever was closest. Or whichever wasn’t occupied by Sam. He banged on the door for a moment before deciding he didn’t have time to waste on being polite. It wouldn’t be anything Dean hadn’t seen before- life on the road, hotels, they were brothers after all. He pushed the door open. 

“Fucking hangover-” Dean stopped in his tracks, nausea put on hold for a moment as he realized what he had walked in on. Sam was standing in the shower, but the water wasn’t on. He was leaning against the side of the shower with a hand down his pants, moving slowly. Dean took in the sight- the way Sam's head was leaning back against the wall with his mouth open slightly, the look of bliss on his face quickly turning red with embarrassment, and the way that, even as he yanked his hand out of his jeans and tugged them up tighter, they tented out at the front. Sam was rubbing a hand through his hair now, about to bullshit something, but Dean held up his hand in the universal ‘I don’t want to hear it’ gesture before turning to the toilet and promptly emptying the contents of his stomach. He _really_ hated hangovers. 

Sam watched Dean crumple over the toilet, and in an instant decided to set aside his current… need in favour of helping his brother. He stepped out of the shower gingerly before kneeling down next to Dean, putting a hand on his back in a gentle show of support. All he got in return was a glare from Dean before he was forced back to the toilet bowl by another wracking heave. Shit… was Dean mad at him now? Or was he just in a bad mood from the hangover? Sam had no clue- he could usually read his brother pretty well, but today… well, they hadn’t exactly encountered this situation before. Sam had no standard to compare reactions to. But how could Sam help it? God… this just made everything more confusing. So much more confusing- where would they stand? Hopefully they could just forget what Sam had just been caught doing and go on with life- saving people, hunting things. 

Sam pulled some toilet paper off the roll once Dean’s heaves were beginning to get gentler and less frequent. He turned Dean's face towards him and began to try to help him clean up. Dean just glared at him before slapping his hand away and grabbing the paper for himself, roughly wiping his mouth before chucking it into the toilet and flushing the repulsive contents down. Dean stood roughly, swaying slightly as he grabbed the glass by the sink and filled it with water, rinsing his mouth three or four times. Finally he shoved the glass into Sam's hand and stalked out towards the bedroom. 

“Dean, I-” Sam started, trying to figure out where they stood. Dean cut him off. 

“Forget it man.” He held his hand up again. “I don’t need- I don’t want- to hear it. Everyone's gotta do it sometime. Sorry ‘bout interrupting. Go… Continue, whatever…”

Sam took that as permission to get the hell out of there- no pun intended. He walked to the kitchen and placed the glass in the sink, grabbed a replacement glass for the washroom, and put in back on the sink top in the bathroom. He approached the bedroom cautiously and listened at the door before walking in. Dean was sitting on the bed, apparently just finished getting dressed. Sam quickly changed, careful to avoid Dean's eyes, and grabbed his duffel bag. 

“I got my new shoes from Bobby last night. Lucky chance he had my size. I'll meet you in the car…” Sam rushed out of the room. 

Dean sat on the bed a moment longer, thankful Sam hadn’t noticed the slight flush to his cheeks. He had just pulled up his pants when Sam had walked in. Sam had been so awkward in the washroom. And yet… Dean didn’t know why. Did that mean Sam was just embarrassed to be caught by his brother…? And why had Sam been jerking off anyway? Not that a reason was always needed, but Dean would’ve thought Sam would have waited until they had left Bobby's place at the least. Bobby was like a father to them, and if Sam had gotten caught at it by Bobby, it would’ve been almost as bad as him getting caught at it by their father… if he were still alive. So was Sam interested in him then, or not? Damn this was messed up. 

Dean shoved himself off the bed, frustration and confusion making him irritable. He wanted Sam. There, it was time he admitted that. But… God, he didn’t want to force his baby brother into anything. And if Sam thought it was his last wish, he would do anything. Dean was sure of it. But he wanted Sammy to want him too… Why the hell did they have such a damn messed up family? Dean almost wished that he didn’t know about the monsters, the demons… but then he wouldn’t be himself. He wouldn’t be as close to Sammy… He slammed the bedroom door on the way out. 

“You okay, kid?” Bobby was sitting on the sofa where Dean had sat the night before, reading the paper. Dean saw a headline- ‘Girl Found Dead in Room, Part of Brain Removed. Police Have No Leads- Investigation Ongoing’. 

“’M fine, Bobby. Kitsune?” Dean gestured to the paper. 

“Looks like. Was gonna go for it- it’s just up in Montana.” Bobby turned from the paper and looked Dean in the eye, the way only Bobby did. “But you boys need a distraction. Go hunt kid, and try to get Sammy in a better mood.”

“Hate those things. Thanks, Bobby.” Dean took the offered paper and tried to calm himself down as he trudged out the door. Sam was already in the impala, so Dean slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Kitsune, in Montana. Grab the map, Sammy. We got a hunt.” 

Dean tossed the newspaper onto Sam's lap as he turned the key in the ignition. After the Impala roared to life, he started flipping through the tape collection. 

“Dean… I-”

“Shut up and sing along, Sammy. You know you want to.” Dean shoved a tape in and The Doors came on. Dean flipped to track 6. Sam just glared at Dean as he recognised the song. Dean laughed out loud at the bitchface he wasn’t sure Sam even intended to throw his way. It was only about a level 4- annoyed, but not completely pissed off. Dean turned it up and started singing along when he turned off the drive. 

_Come on baby, light my fire_   
_Come on baby, light my fire_   
_Try to set the night on fire_   
_The time to hesitate is through_   
_No time to wallow in the mire_   
_Try now we can only lose_   
_And our love become a funeral pyre_   
_Come on baby, light my fire_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you all enjoyed! Feedback is much appreciated- I want some answers on how you guys liked this one. I wasn't quite sure about it.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said before, more to come soon. Probably later today, if all goes according to plan. Hope you enjoyed it, and please tell me what you thought! I welcome suggestions as well, if I like them I may write them in.


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